


Midnight Library

by NocturnoCulto



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom! John, But I assure you it is, Could be non consensual, Incredibly Manipulative, John is 20, M/M, Manipulative Sherlock, Maybe a tidbit of plot, Nighttime ideas are never good, PWP, Sherlock is 28, Teacher!Sherlock, Teacher-Student Relationship, University, student!John, top!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5224694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NocturnoCulto/pseuds/NocturnoCulto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has to write an essay due on Friday, but since the university halls where he lives are too noisy, he resolves to go to the 24/7 on campus library.<br/>There he meets his English professor, Sherlock Holmes, with whom he does not get along. It will be Sherlock's pleasure to prove they can indeed get along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Essay due on Friday 27 November: Christian themes in Hamlet's ghost.

**Author's Note:**

> A library open at midnight is a reality of the university where I'm studying, so...it inspired me to write this short - and quite explicit - fanfic. It will be rather short (about 5, max. 6 chapters) and I have already the whole thing planned (and half of it already written), so I promise fast updates on this.
> 
> Warning: Sherlock is a bit too much manipulative. That's why some of the later scenes could be considered slightly 'dubious consent', but in my head they are not.
> 
> Disclaimer: not British, English is not my first language, not beta'ed
> 
> Read at your own risk and leave kudos/comments if you feel like.
> 
> NocturnoCulto

It was Monday and John was late. He had promised himself to do the research carefully and to write the essay on time, but it had all gone to hell. First, there had been Mike's birthday, then he had quarrelled with Sarah, then he had lost - well, lost…someone had clearly stolen them from his room - his notes and had to rely on Greg's. Which had been a challenge, because Greg was not the best student he could ask.

That's why he had ended up in the library at midnight with a dozen of books on Hamlet scattered on a creaking table. The essay was due on Friday at 11.59, and he had no idea about what to write. He re-read the given title, _Christian themes in Hamlet's ghost_ and sighed.

He opened the first book under his nose and started leafing through. He yawned. He was exhausted. Rugby training hadn't left him in his best state. His muscles ached, his shoulder was in pain, and his neck was sore. He yawned again and wondered whether taking a third coffee in less than one hour would be deemed inappropriate.

A sudden noise made him flinch. No one ever came to the library that late. Not even the most desperate student left the halls at midnight just to go there. He turned to the noise's direction, already wondering who it could be. The answer came before he could fully turn.

‘Watson. I didn't expect to find you here this late,’ it was unmistakably Professor Holmes's voice.

John swallowed. He and Holmes didn't quite get along. He was under the impression he had been under Holmes's magnifying glass since the day he had stepped in his classroom. Holmes observed him. Truth be told, Holmes had a habit of observing people, but only John, of all, had had the guts of standing against him. It had been a glorious day for John - he had been called a hero - but Holmes had not taken it lightly. And for John life had become a bit of a nightmare. And being up at midnight in the library doing the essay Holmes would read didn't probably increase Holmes's opinion about him.

‘What are you doing?’

Of course Mr Holmes could see what he was doing, but the question had given him enough time to step forward and place himself behind John's back.

‘I see,’ he commented. ‘Shouldn't you have started this weeks ago? I thought I had been clear when I said I wouldn't have accepted any last-minute essay.’ Then John felt the air moving around him, and Holmes whispered in his ear, ‘And you know I can tell if an essay is rushed or not.’

John shivered, but it wasn't for fear. Holmes's voice had an undeniable power over him. It was deep, and warm, and, if whispered that close, breath tickling his skin, somehow erotic. Wait, had he just associated the word erotic to his professor?

‘Yes, I,’ he swallowed, and his voice faltered. ‘I know it, professor.’

The man's face was still near John's ear. He could feel every single gust of breath, warm breath, on his midnight-cold skin, ‘Good, Watson. Good.’

Holmes eventually stood up, ‘Too much going on lately, uh? A birthday party, a quarrel, and that unfortunate accident with your notes.’

Now that Holmes had taken two steps back, John felt safer, and he was about to angrily ask Holmes if he had been spying on him, but he bit his tongue. He was already with one foot in the grave. He was not going to bury himself in it voluntarily.

He tried to concentrate on the books and ignore Holmes's presence. It proved impossible. The man stood beside him, his gaze on John's every movement. How could he write it when he couldn't even read three words without getting nervous? It was maddening.

‘The halls are too noisy to write, I suppose,’ Holmes said. ‘I can see you'd rather be in your room right now, but the noise was preventing you from reading. Hence, you came here.’

John took a deep breath, ‘Yes. They were,’ he angrily replied, not able to hold it any longer. ‘And I'd like to continue my work right now, if you want it on your desk on Friday.’ He had lost it, but he felt as if a heavy burden had just been removed from his heart.

As always, Holmes didn’t flinch, ‘Go on, then.’

John waited for Holmes to move away, but he didn't, ‘I am quite sure there are rules here that do not allow a teacher to read his students' essays before the due date,’ John spat out and turned to face his professor.

John had never met him out of the classroom before. He and Mike had even joked about Holmes living in his own office. His black curls were more ruffled than usual, with a couple of locks falling softly on his forehead. His usually pale cheekbones looked chiselled under the neon lights. His lips, with that ridiculous cupid-bow upper, were moist and red, slightly parted. Maybe it was the light, but they looked kissable. His eyes were still of that cold aquamarine, but, thanks to the dimness, his black pupils were larger. His long, thin neck disappeared into a white shirt that was almost too tight. No, wrong. It was definitely too tight. Holmes's nipples were clearly visible underneath the fabric. Two small parallel peaks mid-chest. Hard. John unconsciously licked his lower lip and swallowed.

‘Are you staring at something in particular, Watson?’ Holmes asked, as though it were an innocent question.

John blushed red and quickly turned his head away, ‘No, sir.’

Another movement behind him and Holmes's breath was once more against his skin, warm, almost inviting, ‘Good,’ he said, voice so low it was a panther purring, then he stood up and John could hear him walk away to the door, ‘Some rules can be _bent_ , Watson,’ Holmes concluded.

The click of the door closing announced Holmes had indeed left the room. John started the book from the beginning a second time, but he found himself doing nothing but reading the same sentence over and over again. Worse than that, his mind kept giving him flashes of Holmes parted lips, of Holmes white shirt, of Holmes hard nipples.

He gathered his books as fast as possible and ran to his room. He opened his laptop and watched his favourite lesbian porn, wanking like his life depended on it.


	2. Essay due on Friday 27 November: Predictable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: thank you for all your amazing kudos! I'm overwhelmed by your lovely response to this fic that came out from my insomnia. 
> 
> This chapter had already been written down when I published the first yesterday, and now I'm in the process of writing the third. I'm quite on schedule, and I hope I'll be able to deliver the next few chapters in the next days. 
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: not British, English is not my first language, not beta'ed. 
> 
> Leave kudos/comments if you like, but you've been all fantastic with all those wonderful kudos, so I'm not begging for more :)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> NocturnoCulto

He didn't talk about the accident to anyone. In other circumstances, it could have been a funny story to tell, but waking up with a hard-on only because he had had a particularly wet dream about a particular professor made the story a lot less funny.

That evening he was pacing to and fro his small bedroom. Books lay open on his desk, and he had managed to write about a page in the last two hours. But now the usual ten o’clock chaos had started, and John couldn't focus anymore. The solution to his problems would have been the library, if he had had enough willpower to go there. He had been balancing the pros and cons of seeking shelter there. Pro: silence, essay done. Cons: the possibility to find Holmes there, the impossibility to look at him without having second thoughts. But what were the chances of meeting him twice in two days at that odd hour? Close to zero.

Maybe statistics was not a subject in which he could have excelled, because the chances, apparently, were rather higher. Holmes arrived precisely at midnight, like the day before, and John took a deep breath he couldn't tell if it were of anger or of relief. Which made him angrier than he already was.

‘Halls still noisy?’ the professor asked, and dragged a chair to John's desk, sitting opposite to him.

John couldn't help but stare. The mess of black curls was slightly damp, as if Holmes had just showered and had had no time to dry them properly, and a small crystal drop had found its way down Holmes's neck. John followed it going down, and down, and down until it was hidden by the shirt. A purple shirt. Purple and, again, tight beyond any possible reason.

‘Watson?’ Holmes's voice brought him back to the neon-lit library room.

John swallowed and tried to remember what the question was, ‘Yes,’ he eventually answered, ‘Halls are always too noisy late in the evening.’

‘Not a surprise, considering the incredible amount of utterly stupid imbeciles who live there. Some sociologists could study the relationship between animal and human behaviour simply by walking through a university hall in the late evening,’

Holmes picked up one of John’s books and started leafing through it. He didn't seem deeply interested in it. He just looked at one page, possibly read some random words, and went to the next page. The whole process, however, involved a good amount of finger-licking. To turn the pages, Holmes didn't simply wet the tip of his index, he stuck his tongue out and slowly - painstakingly slowly - slid the finger on it. The gesture was always followed by the tip of Holmes's tongue passing over his upper lip, and by a small bite of the lower one. It was practically watching foreplay in porn.

‘Predictable book,’ the professor sentenced, eventually ending John’s torture. He barely registered what Holmes had said anyway, his ears whistling with high blood pressure. ‘You shouldn’t use it for your essay.’

‘Yes,’ John panted, hiding his hands beneath his thighs to avoid touching pleasurable – and extremely inappropriate – parts of his body.

Holmes quirked an eyebrow, ‘Were you staring at something?’

It took all John’s strength to keep a straight face and reply, ‘No.’

‘Good,’ Holmes said, his voice again a couple of octave lower than what John deemed safe, and he slouched on the chair, opening his legs in a pornographic manner. ‘Because since you were _not_ staring at my nipples yesterday, and you were _not_ staring at my fingers today…’ Holmes said, his fingers slowly unbuttoning the shirt’s first button, ‘…and you are _not_ staring now,’ and he unbuttoned the second, ‘I can’, and the third was done, ‘relax a bit,’ and he unbuttoned the fourth, and he stopped to push the two sides of the shirt apart, exposing his white skin and his nipples. Pink, round, hard nipples.

John gulped, and it seemed to him that the whole world suddenly disappeared. He could only hear Holmes’s breathing, could only see Holmes’s skin, and could only feel his own jeans become tighter.

Holmes brought his right index finger to his mouth and pushed it in slowly. He sucked it, then parted his lips and let it slide over his lower lip, sticking his tongue out to circle it before running it down his chin, down to his neck and to his chest until it met his nipple. Holmes traced the contour of the pink dot on his skin with his fingertip, then pinched the nipple between his index and his thumb, never diverting his eyes from John.

John was transfixed. In the back of his brain a voice was telling him to stand up and to run away, but he was paralyzed on that chair. He stared and stared as Holmes repeated the path on the left side, with his left index finger disappearing inside his mouth and soon leaving a wet translucent trail on pale skin. John drank in every movement, like a man who found water after being in the desert for too long and longed for more until he drowned.

Holmes probably read John’s mind and let his head fall back, his neck arched and the protuberance of his Adam’s apple was thus fully on display. His black curls fell softly on the pale skin of his shoulders, while his hands moved up and down his torso, caressing the muscles on his belly, pinching the nipples or rubbing them in circles.

John unconsciously freed his hands from underneath his thighs and started palming himself through the fabric of his jeans. When Holmes pinched both his nipples and let out the first moan, John pushed his hand harder against his throbbing groin and licked his lips.

Holmes raised his head, ‘Still not staring, Watson?’

It was as though something clicked inside John’s head, like he had been dreaming the most beautiful dream and suddenly the alarm clock went off, waking him up. He removed his hands from his groin and jumped up on his feet as though the chair was on fire. He was breathing hard and his cheeks were hot.

‘This is…’ he tried to say. Holmes stopped and looked intensely at him. His usual blue eyes were now two black pools of lust, and John stopped, trying to retrieve what he wanted to say. He failed.

‘This is?’ Holmes asked, a mix of curiosity and amusement on his face.

‘Sick,’ John spat out. ‘Utterly sick. You are sick, and this is against all rules!’ he thumped the table, so hard his knuckles became instantly red.

Holmes stood up too, not bothering to cover his exposed skin. John wanted to leave, but once more was riveted on the spot. His professor placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, his lips reaching John’s ear. ‘Some rules can be _bent_ , Watson,’ he whispered, hot puffs of air on John’s lobe. Holmes’s wet tongue trailed John’s helix, and he couldn’t help but letting out a moan, which he tried to stifle when it was already too late.

Still, John managed to pull away. He gathered his books faster than he had ever thought to be possible for a human being, avoided Holmes’s gaze, and left the room. He caught a last glimpse of Holmes reflected in the windowpane. He was standing behind the desk, his shirt still open, and he smirked at him. John run away.

Safe in his room, John wanked again. He tried not to think about Holmes, but it was impossible. He came imagining Holmes touching him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small sharing of happiness: today I've got my Creative Writing assignment back and I am soooo happy <3 Apparently, I've got strong grammar and punctuation, and I can't be prouder than this, since English has such a different punctuation/grammar than my native language. All's well that ends well <3
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	3. English Lecture of 25 November: Homosexuality in the Shakespearean Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you all for your amazing kudos and your comments <3
> 
> But promises are promises, and here comes the new chapter (we are half-way through the story, hurrah!). I'm actually working on the fourth, which I hope will be ready soon (can't promise it will be ready tomorrow because it's quite long, and tomorrow and Friday will be busy days). Be patient ;)
> 
> Warning: a bit of sexting by our absolutely-not-manipulative professor Holmes.
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm still not a native speaker of the English language and this is still not beta'ed. Nevertheless, enjoy!
> 
> I won't ask you to leave kudos/comments, but if you want to, you're free to.
> 
> NocturnoCulto <3

‘Are you all right?’ Mike asked as they walked down the corridor to the classroom.

It was Wednesday, and they had a three-hour lecture with Holmes.

‘You seem distracted,’ Mike went on.

‘Mh?’

‘Is there something going on, John? You haven’t spoken a single word since we had breakfast.’

Of course there was something going on, but confessing Mike he almost had a sexual encounter – well, _almost_ was not the right word to describe what had happened – with Holmes was not in his morning plans. And he couldn’t confess he would have preferred to be eaten alive by an anaconda than to have three hours with Holmes without revealing why.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I’m just tired because I haven’t still managed to finish the essay.’

‘Oh, but you shouldn’t deprive yourself of sleep.’

If only Mike imagined what had kept John awake!

‘Plus, the essay is not this difficult.’

‘That’s because you are a genius and Holmes has nothing against you,’ John said, and the sentence made him think of what Holmes had actually against him. Considering the last two days, perhaps less than John believed. Or, since Holmes was an all-round bastard, maybe those _encounters_ had the purpose of making John forget about his essay, so that he was bound to failure.

‘True that,’ Mike smiled.

They sat down in their usual seats and waited for the classroom to fill.

Holmes arrived five minutes late, and John couldn’t help noticing how different he appeared in the daylight. The messy black curls of late night were now disciplined on his head, and his face was severe, with no hint of sexual innuendos. Nevertheless, John gulped at the sight and couldn’t discard a very vivid picture of pale smooth skin from his mind.

‘Apologies for the delay,’ Holmes said. ‘But apparently all London cabs decided I wasn’t worthy enough of their service and had to,’ he grimaced, ‘take the underground.’ He opened a book he had in his leather bag and started, ‘This should have been a lecture about Shakespeare’s _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , but I think the subject has already been debated too many times. So, today’s lecture will be on homosexuality in the Shakespearean times.’

John gulped and he was sure his heart skipped two or three beats. What was Holmes trying to do?

Despite his fears, John had to admit the lecture was extremely interesting. As always, Holmes’s knowledge of the subject proved to be exceptional. In that perspective, John and the others couldn’t complain about Holmes. It was just Holmes’s human side that made them cringe. More than once people had come out of his office crying uncontrollably, and John’s defence of the poor Hannah – who had been openly insulted by Sherlock because she lacked any training in Latin – was the reason John had lost Holmes’s favour.

One hour later, Holmes granted them their usual ten-minute break. John fidgeted a bit with his mobile, wondering whether asking Sarah out that evening. He felt bad for having quarrelled with her, but he was in the right. The mobile buzzed in his hands, and John smiled, thinking that Sarah had just had the same idea. But the message came from an unknown number.

_I hope your midnight wank does not cloud your brain._

John looked around to see if someone had sent him a message. From the corner of his eyes he registered Holmes tapping swiftly on his mobile, and he flinched on his chair as Holmes’s raised his eyes and smirked at him. A second message arrived.

_Was it satisfying?_

And a third.

_Don’t ignore me, Watson._

John noticed Holmes could type on his keyboard without looking at it. So he continued staring at John while tapping furiously on the mobile.

_Maybe it wasn’t satisfying enough. If you had stayed, you would have been more than satisfied by now. Your loss, not mine._

John looked at the screen. He tried to switch off the phone, but his fingers didn’t obey him.

_I was wondering…have you ever taken a cock in your mouth?_

John swallowed hard and, at the same time, felt his blood rushing southward. He turned his head in panic and looked at Sholto who was chatting with a couple of girls.

_Thanks for the confirmation._

John reproached himself for having been so blatant.

_Did you like it? Ah, you did. You would not have turned to his direction if you had not liked it. You enjoyed the sensation, and you still remember it quite fondly. Good boy._

_Yet, Sholto? Really? He’s insipid. Oh, but maybe you did it because you were drunk. No, not your style._

_Ah, got it. You liked his body. Can’t deny all those muscles must be incredibly attractive for you._

The ten-minute break ended and so did the messages. John sighed in relief and tried to focus on the lecture while attempting to forget about the messages and about how tight his jeans suddenly were.

Holmes had yet to finish announcing their second break – other ten minutes – that John’s mobile buzzed violently in his pocket, sending an unexpected bolt of pleasure through his thighs.

_I am surprised you resisted this much without excusing yourself out of the classroom for a mid-lecture wank. You are full of surprises, Watson. I must admit that watching you struggle not to give in to your carnal instinct had made me hard too._

_I was almost tempted to send you some messages while teaching, just to see you writhe to avoid touching yourself._

John somehow managed to turn off his mobile, but turned it on seconds later. Two new messages were already waiting for him.

_Don’t be an idiot, Watson. Turning off your mobile won’t change anything._

_Ah, good boy. You’re obeying me. That’s good._

For the first time, John typed on his mobile. If there existed a record of fast-typing on a mobile, he could have probably won.

_It’s not good. It’s sick._

Holmes grinned at him. He looked around to see if someone was noticing what was going on, but all were busy chatting, and Mike had gone to the loo.

_Oh please. If you didn’t enjoy it, you would go to the dean. But you didn’t. What does it tell about you, Watson?_

_I didn’t enjoy it._

_Two desperate, frustrated wanks in the middle of the night after seeing me, and you’re actually pretending you didn’t enjoy it? Don’t make me laugh, Watson._

_You’re sick._

_You already vented it quite eloquently. I think the whole campus might have heard you. Time to go on with the lecture, anyway. See you tonight. Same spot, same hour._

‘Come on, class. Let’s go back to homosexuality in Shakespeare.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and sorry if it was less hot than the previous, but I needed a bit of build-up ;)
> 
> NocturnoCulto


	4. Essay due on Friday 27 November: Working Yourself to the Bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shall I thank you all wonderful readers for your amazing kudos? Of course I shall! Thank you A LOT to each of you <3
> 
> Apparently, I managed to write this whole chapter down sooner than I thought, and, since I'll be overwhelmed by work today and tomorrow (as I have already mentioned), I thought to post it this morning, so I can worry about writing the next one (which I haven't started yet ç_ç). Nevertheless, enjoy this one! (And enjoy my not-procrastination until it lasts ;))
> 
> Warning: Sherlock keeps being manipulative. The scenes depicted here are on the edge of non-consent. You've been warned!
> 
> Disclaimer: oh yes. Still not British, English has not become my first language overnight (sadly) and it's not beta'ed.
> 
> NocturnoCulto <3

Half past ten on Wednesday evening and John was sitting on his bed with a bunch of notes on paper surrounding him. He rhythmically tapped the silvery surface of his laptop’s keyboard, aware that he was not going anywhere with the essay.

The halls were eerily quiet, and John had no excuses for not to be working on his essay. No excuses whatsoever. Yet, every time he opened a book or researched a website, Holmes’s text messages came to his mind. He had wanked another time that afternoon, as soon as he had got out of Holmes’s lecture. It was sick, he knew it, and he kept repeating it in his head, like a mantra.

He fidgeted with his mobile, fingers lingering on the DELETE that could perpetually erase Holmes’s messages. But the fingers lingered, and lingered, never doing the short – and painless – slide on the screen.

He resolved to face Holmes once and for all, and to do that, he decided, he had to meet him at midnight in the library. John would tell Holmes he was going to report him to the university board of professors if he didn’t stop harassing him, and everything would be fine. Holmes certainly didn’t want to lose his job, did he? He needed to be loud and clear, and everything would eventually go back to normality.

He started jotting down the outline of a well-written speech, one that should have gone straight to the point, one of which Holmes should have been both scared and appreciative. An hour later, the speech was memorized, and John was ready.

He walked out of his room and bumped into Mike.

‘Where the hell are you going at this odd hour?’ his friend asked.

John gulped and felt his cheeks burn, ‘Ah,’ he muttered. ‘I am…I forgot a book in the library.’

‘Can’t you get it tomorrow?’

‘I…’ lying to Mike was incredibly painful, ‘…need it for the essay.’

Mike raised an eyebrow, ‘You’re really working yourself to the bone on that essay, John!’

John nodded and walked away as fast as he could.

The library was, as always, dead silent. No one was there, nothing moved. He sat down at his usual table and took out a book he had brought with him just to keep up appearances. The clock on the wall marked a quarter to twelve. He waited. Each passing minute tick-tocked loudly in the empty space, each minute brought the black hand nearer to twelve, and when twelve struck John inhaled deeply.

But nothing happened. No ‘click’ of the opening door, no familiar steps, nothing. Outside the window, only the wind blew. Five past midnight, and John thought about leaving. Ten past midnight, and John was still sitting on the chair staring at the black hours on the clock face. Fifteen past midnight, and John really believed it was time to go. Twenty past midnight, and John pretended to read the book. Twenty-five past midnight, and John was definitely ready to leave. Thirty past midnight, and a blast of wind announced the door had just been opened.

John didn’t turn, still pretending to be deeply interested in a page he had already read a dozen times.

‘Evening, Watson,’ the deep, purring voice confirmed it was Holmes.

John didn’t answer.

‘Oh, I know you’ve heard me. Try to be more _polite_ to your teachers,’ Holmes went on, dangerously walking toward John’s table.

John sprang up to his feet and turned to Holmes, taking him aback. They both stood still, John’s eyes fixed on Holmes as Holmes’s eyes were fixed on John.

The hue of surprise on Holmes’s face was quickly replaced by a smug grin, ‘Do you have something to tell me, Watson?’

Despite all John’s willpower, he felt like he had run a marathon. He was short of breath and his heart pounded loudly in his chest, his mouth was dry and the palms of his hands were sweaty.

And the sight of Holmes’s figure made him forget his speech in a matter of seconds. Holmes was stunning. The black curls were softer than usual and contoured his pale face perfectly, with two luscious black locks softly lying on his cheekbones. A black, silky shirt with the first two buttons open was practically an invitation to discover more of the body hidden beneath; and the skinny black jeans – he had never seen Holmes wearing jeans before – were so tight, John didn’t have to use his imagination to see the bulge just below the belt. He looked like Sex.

John licked his lips as Holmes took a step forward, placed both his hands on John’s shoulders, and repeated, whispering into John’s ear, ‘Do you have _something_ to tell _me_ , Watson?’ then moved, his lips a hairbreadth away from John’s. ‘Or shall we _proceed_?’ he said, slowly, and John sensed the warm, damp air out of Holmes’s mouth on his lips.

Holmes’s right thumb trailed the underneath of John’s chin down to where John’s neck met his creamy jumper, he fiddled with the hem, and stopped there, one finger brushing John’s warm skin, the thumb drawing small circles on the woolly jumper. He never diverted his gaze from John’s eyes even as he leaned forward and licked John’s left cheek.

John didn’t move. John couldn’t move. He was there, looking, feeling every shift in Holmes’s position, every touch, and every breath. Inside his head, two sides battled fiercely: a part of him screamed _yes, please_ and the other yelled _this has to stop_. The first victim on the field was he.

He stood still while Holmes’s left hand travelled downward and lifted his jumper, slipping underneath on John’s warm skin, unable to understand what was happening; he stood still while Holmes bent his head and started kissing him, slow, wet, hot kisses tracing the mandibular bone, the side of his trachea, his Adam’s apple; and he stood still when Holmes’s right hand left the neck of his jumper and found his nipple, toying with it. John moaned.

‘ _Yes_ ,’ Holmes whispered where John’s collarbones met, and his voice echoed through John’s body.

Somehow, it woke John up from his catatonic state. He raised his hands, pressed them on Holmes’s chest and pushed him away. ‘Stop!’ he shouted. ‘This has to fucking stop.’

Holmes didn’t move, but he gazed down, ‘Don’t tell me you don’t want it.’

John swallowed, ‘I don’t.’

Holmes sneered, ‘Liar.’

‘I am going to report you,’ John said, his voice coming out in small, choked gulps.

‘You won’t.’

‘I will,’ and he reached his mobile in his jeans pocket, his hand shaking violently. ‘I’ve got the messages you sent me. The dean will be horrified, and you will be fired,’ John announced as steadily as he could, stretching out his arm and shoving his mobile under Holmes’s nose.

Holmes grabbed John’s wrist, ‘Question time, Watson. Do you remember the dean’s _name_?’

It took John a while to connect his brain and answer, as his phone tumbled onto the ground, ‘Sherrinford Holmes.’

Holmes’s grin grew wider, ‘You did your homework. Good boy.’ With the fingers of his right hand still wrapped around John’s wrist, Holmes returned a few centimetres away from John, their chests almost touching, and whispered, ‘And do you know who he is?’

John gulped, ‘Your older brother.’

‘Ah, such a good boy.’

‘I w-w-would…’ John stammered, ‘report you anyway.’

‘You _want_ this. Don’t fight,’ Holmes hissed into John’s still-parted lips.

‘I don’t.’

‘ _You don’t_?’ Holmes mocked and pressed his left hand on John’s hardness, making him moan loud. ‘ _You don’t_?’ he repeated.

‘No, I don’t,’ John managed to say, but his voice was husky.

‘Then why did you come tonight?’ Holmes went on, his hand slowly palming John’s cock. ‘Halls were quiet enough for you to stay there, and you had all the books you needed in your room. I also arrived late on purpose, giving you enough time to leave, but you stayed,’ and leaned forward, his teeth pecking John’s lobe. ‘ _What does it tell about you, Watson_?’

Holmes managed to unbuckle John’s belt while still palming him, he let John’s wrist free, and slipped both his hands inside John’s pants. John’s knees gave in at the touch, and he had to grab the desk to keep himself upright.

A satisfied grin appeared on Holmes’s lips, ‘Tell me you don’t want it,’ he said, enveloping John’s cock with his fingers. ‘Lie to me.’

John didn’t say anything, he only moaned and groaned.

‘Nothing to tell?’ Holmes laughed as he licked his way down John’s neck.

John writhed under Holmes’s strokes. In the deepest recess of his mind he was well aware it was all wrong, but Holmes’s thumb slowly circling the head of his cock, pressing on the tip, silenced that voice.

‘Now,’ Holmes hissed softly against John’s skin. ‘Do you want it?’

‘Yes,’ John’s lips moved before he could think.

‘Good boy,’ Holmes smiled, giving John one particularly vigorous stroke that made him grip the table faster, then abruptly stopped. He removed his hand, and John groaned desperately at the loss. He was about to ask what had happened when Holmes said, firmly and seductively, ‘On your knees, Watson.’

John didn’t move. He stayed there, mouth open, breath uneven, but he didn’t move.

Holmes didn’t flinch, and repeated, ‘I said: on your knees.’

‘I don—ah,’ John tried to bite back, but Holmes pushed him down.

‘You don’t _what_?’ Holmes teased, unbuckling his own belt. ‘You _do_ want this, and if you were going to say that you don’t suck cocks, I think we have already established the truth this morning.’

John swallowed as Holmes freed his cock and pushed it against his still-shut mouth. Holmes bent downward and caressed John’s cheek, brushing the tip of his thumb on John’s lower lip, then he also sat on his knees. He looked at John and buried his head under John’s chin, licking his way to John’s ear. John moaned in pleasure, and Holmes took advantage of it by pushing his thumb inside John’s mouth. John unconsciously closed his eyes and sucked it, his tongue moving fast as Holmes pushed it farther and farther down the throat.

‘See? You want it,’ sweet words against John’s skin. ‘You want it.’

John slightly nodded, and Holmes pulled away, standing up. His cock came back against John’s mouth, and John opened it.

Holmes’s cock was warm and had a masculine smell John found incredibly erotic as it was pushed slowly inside his mouth. It was definitely bigger than his own and slightly larger than Sholto’s. Some pre-come was already on the tip, and he moved the tongue around tasting its saltiness. His own cock throbbed and twitched at the sensation of Holmes pushing it farther inside. And when Holmes moaned for the first time, throwing his head back, John couldn’t hide a small grin of satisfaction.

‘Do not grin,’ Holmes commanded and forced all his length down John’s throat, making him cough and spit.

Small tears gathered at the corner of John’s eyes, but his cock twitched again and became possibly harder than it already was.

‘Liking it?’ Holmes teased, taking hold of John’s head and pulling it toward him, fucking his mouth thoroughly.

John licked and sucked, his neglected hardness leaking hot come as Holmes pounded John’s mouth harder and harder. His rhythm was steady: he held John’s head strongly, pulled it towards his groin, and bucked his hips forward at the same time, until he lost it. John felt Holmes’s cock twitch on his tongue, and Holmes’s hands pulled his hair. He came in hot spurts into John’s mouth, down John’s throat. He didn’t pull away until the last drop was spilled and his cock softened.

‘Good boy,’ he said, panting, and quickly pulled his trousers up.

He walked away before John could say anything, before he could even react to what happened. He left John on his knees on the floor, his cock still hard, cold come on his lips, down his chin. John felt like he had dreamt everything. He tried to ignore his aching erection, zipped his trousers up, and picked up his mobile.

The screen lit up.

_You know, if you had not lied, I would have sucked you off. But I think you deserve some punishment for your disrespect, don’t you? Now, go and wank. I’ll see you tomorrow. Same spot, same time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I had both this story and my linguistics essay open in Word, and I was about to post part of my essay instead of this. Which made me think about me sending this story to the TurnItIn system, instead of the essay. I bet the whole English department would laugh at me if I did so. And I probably won't have the guts to show again at any of the lectures...can you imagine the embarrassment? 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!
> 
> NocturnoCulto <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


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